Chapter 79
Wisty
An awfully loud noise wakes me from an almost deathly slumber. I shoot up with a start-and a modest burst of flame. Where am I? Somewhere outside… looks vaguely familiar…
I stumble through the starlit darkness and barely manage to grab a railing. Oh yeah. Okay. I'm on the parapet of an abandoned factory my brother and I found after the portal ejected us into the rubble-strewn borderlands of Freeland.
And I was supposedly on night watch for three hours while poor Whit got some rest.
Down below there's some sort of scuffling. Panting? Grunting? Oh no! I have to get Whit!
But before I can even make it to the rooftop door, he's bursting through it.
"Byron and his freaks," he gasps. "They must have made it through the portal, too. They'll follow our scent up here. Is there another way down?"
I shake my head. "So we'll have to use magic, or fight -"
"There will be no fight," I hear Byron Swain declare haughtily as he casually slips through the door, shutting it behind him. His usual perfect timing.
We hear a rumbling of bodies trampling up the stairwell and pounding against the door frenetically. Byron's got a Command Pipe, and he plays several bold notes, which seems to settle the monsters down. But that doesn't stop Whit from pinning Byron's back against the door.
"We are not going anywhere without a fight, Swain," my brother says through gritted teeth. "There were a few minutes back at the BNW where I thought you were actually trying to help us. The toilet flush? That one could have gone either way. But then you show up with a pack of mad apes? You're not interested in saving us. You're interested in saving yourself."
"I'm very sad about this," says Byron, staring straight at me, and I'll admit that it looks as if he's fighting back tears. "To be perfectly honest, you're partially correct, but that's only a recent development. My Kill Team"-he nods sideways toward the beasts behind the door-"were to be the instrument of my own death, as well as yours." He sighs deeply, as if the weight of all this is too much to bear.
And the weirdest thing is, I'm starting to feel it, too. Normally I'd be ready to light up after hearing about his little assassination agenda-but now, his burden, his misery, his… well, his feelings for me, whatever they are… just kind of sock me in the gut and take my breath away. Instead of being scared and angry, I actually feel sorry for him.
"The only one who'll be dead is you," Whit spits.
"Shut up, Whit," I say. I turn back to the weasel. "B., are you looking me in the eye and saying that you intended this night to end with a suicide-murder massacre? Are you really that insane? I'd actually started to believe in you back at the BNW," I confess.
I think I see a flicker of hope in Byron's eyes, but it quickly turns dark. "Insane? I don't know, Wisty. I don't know what I am. Remember when I said that no one being exposed to The One's evil for a long time can remain unchanged? I've seen things in him, know things about him-and his victims-that have driven me to these lengths. I can't apologize for it. And… I can say without reservation, your life is better ending now than being forced to be with him. Which is what he wants-and what he will get."
Okay. He has both my and Whit's attention now. Whit loosens his grip, but his tone is still harsh. "You have no belief in Freeland, then. In the Resistance. Or in us." Whit's eyes flare with so much bitterness that I think maybe he will light up.
"Oh, but I do," Byron says, finally unlocking his eyes from mine and looking at Whit. "Even you, jockstrap. I've been reading your journal. Very interesting stuff. Had no idea about your special Gift."
Whit looks surprised. "For writing, you mean?"
Byron snorts. "Are you kidding me? Most of that writing's straight from Ms. Magruder's class. And the stuff that isn't is-well, let's face it-utter dreck." The guy really has no fear of the fact that my brother can deck him, does he? "Do you mean to tell me you have no idea of your Gift?"
"First of all, Byron, I told you to quit talking like that," I jump in. It's obviously going to take a woman to move this conversation forward. "Second, just tell us what you're getting at. Please?"
"The evidence is there with a little interpolation," Byron continues in his stiff, blustery tone, "but I'm fairly convinced that Whit is clairvoyant."
Chapter 80
Whit
I want proof.
Because I know I've written some pretty grim things in my journal.
Including, but not limited to, the death of my sister.
"Would you care to," I sneer, "interpolate that statement for us?"
"That doesn't even make any sense." Byron looks annoyed. "I suppose you weren't always listening in Ms. Magruder's class. But, for starters, perhaps you'd like to explain to Wisty how you knew that the little Bionic Drummer Boy was going to get his arms… amputated."
My stomach curdles, and Wisty looks at me in shock as the weasel continues. "And it's also apparent that you know The One is going to bomb every inch of Freeland very soon. There are plenty of examples, but I suggest we save the rest of this fascinating discussion for better times."
I hear some disturbing growling start up outside the door, and Byron swiftly blows a few strong notes on his Command Pipe, which results in instant chill.
"Look, we know you're full of it, Swain, so let's move on to plan B."
"Yeah," Wisty jumps in. "Can't we agree to a nice, simple plan that doesn't end in a suicide pact?"
"And how about we start with you giving me back my journal?"
"You're in luck, Whit, because that's actually a part of my new plan." He turns his full attention back to Wisty. I'm continually stunned by the intense looks he throws her. Like she's his… Celia.
Wow. Scary thought. I instinctively put my arm around Wisty, as if that's going to protect her from his lustful eyes.
"Wisty, you and I both know that we could do great things together," he says to her, and I tighten my grip on her shoulder. "You felt it onstage at Stockwood. You felt it when we made magic at the BNW. And your first major transformation was done on me, wasn't it? In case you forgot, it wasn't a weasel. Originally, you turned me into a lion. It was… electric."
Wisty is speechless. Her stomach has to be cramping way worse than mine now.
"I know you don't care all that much for me," he continues in the understatement of the century. "But you and I are so much more powerful together than you and your brother. The fact is, Wisty, I believe that you and I could actually be the two children of the prophecies."
"The prophecies say a brother and sister!" she spits out indignantly.
"The brother-sister detail is a technicality. I know you don't want to admit this, but you and Whit haven't yet executed the level of magic that Freeland needs in order to defeat The One. But when your energy goes through me, it becomes greater."
"Prove it!" Wisty demands.
"You've been blind to how much I've been intertwined with your life, your magic. You didn't even realize I was there when you turned everyone in Unger's courtroom into horseflies. And remember who allowed you two to take your drumstick and your journal when you were captured by the New Order?"
We're numb, speechless, confused, trying to process all of this.
Byron takes advantage of the moment, and as he strides away a few paces, we hear the growling behind the door stir up again. There are sharp scraping sounds-teeth or claws on metal?
Byron reaches for his Command Pipe but then suddenly drops it before he makes a sound.
"You have two options right now, Allgoods: We three can quickly end this hopeless quest as martyrs at the hands of the Kill Team. Or"-he lets us listen as the clamoring of hungry beasts gets more frenzied-"we take Whit to The One instead of Wisty. I believe he would accept your incredible Gift, Whit, instead of Wisty's."
"You don't know that he would," I say. "You don't even know that I have any Gift to… fortune-tell." I have to admit, I'm processing that one. "What about Wisty?"